


Over and Over Again

by rane_ne



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-up Frisk, Angst, Borderlining genocide route, Dark, Frisk kills almost everyone close to Sans, Gen, Neutral Route, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, Reader Is Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rane_ne/pseuds/rane_ne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nostalgia clings to your soul despite how heavily that crooked organ weighs deep within you. You want to see him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over and Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> I can't seem to write happy things for long, apparently.  
> Warnings for -possible- character death (I'll leave this up to you guys to determine), one-sided Frisk/Sans, and obsessive behavior.

Snow zigzags down from above a static-filled sky and collects inside the gaping opening like pellets of bleached white. Sharp, distinctly bitter— _frozen rain_ , you think as you stare intently over the barrier's edge, tasting the chill of winter and ice and _(his)_ disgust, the inebriating image of warm blood seeping through your fingertips. It brings back fond memories of a time long past. Nostalgia clings to your soul - as it always does when you think back to this place - despite how heavily that crooked organ weighs deep within you. 

You extend your palms out above the chasm and catch each spinning flake through thin, tattered gloves, relishing the shudder of anticipation that sets your entire body alight. 

You want to see him again.

The realization prompts you into action, hands moving to grip the rim of the wide hole; careful of the deadly magic that drifts from the bottom to cover the area in a protective blue coating, you heave your body over and down. 

Darkness greets you like a familiar friend, and it's nothing new—the eerie sensation of monstrous claws clinging to your back as you make your way steadily into the entrance of the underground. The climb is full of loose ledges and crumbling rock, slippery vines coated in a fine layer of midnight dew, melted frost, and chemical pollutants educed from the surface. But it's nothing on you, sure and steadfast legs moving easily through the obstacles, _determined_ , titian gaze bright with glee at the promise of what awaits you at the bottom.

Sunlight never penetrates down to the underground any more, after you left years ago, but there's still a sliver of azure to greet you when you break contact with the wall and land on solid ground. It comes from _that_ person, slumped over himself as he rests against the door separating his world from yours. 

The soil feels soft beneath you, muffling what would otherwise be coarse, excited footsteps as you shuffle towards his prone body at the end of the hallway, eyes wide with an endless, feverish fascination—and a suddenly nervous heart. You move trance-like, left hand clenching and unclenching the knife in your grasp as the memories come searing back in thick, throbbing waves, the events of that day replaying over and over again in your head.

_*this is an odd thing to say, but..._

_His sockets fill empty, coldly regarding you._

_*if you have some sort of special power..._

_He closes them shut, as if to block out your very existence; his smile grows wider with bitterness._

_*isn't it your responsibility to do the right thing?_

You stand before him now, this small, battered skeleton from the closet of your nightmares who slumbers away with thin hands in his pockets and legs curled up to his body, shivering from the press of timeless winter. You remember your answer with a smile. 

_"No."_

Sans's jacket has faded to a dull gray, falling apart at the seams and hastily stitched back together in a motley manner; his black shorts are stained with spots of dried liquid, a sickening red-brown hue that reminds you, yet again, of how much time has passed and how much this once pacifistic monster has deviated from his old ways; around his neck flutters a mangled, maroon scarf, dust blanketing its entire coiled length and pooling in his lap. Although it's evident that time has taken its toll on Sans, cracks lining the outer edges of his skull and streaking past his cheekbones to severe his perpetual smile in half, you observe his sleeping figure with a fond grin. Some things never do change. Taking a closer step to the vulnerable skeleton, extending the knife forward like a lance, you can't help but acknowledge that the fact soothes you. 

Blue light streams from under his closed left socket, and there's something comforting about the way his magic immediately engulfs your hand as you caress his face. _Like he's giving his old buddy a hug_ , you think sardonically. The sapphire glow rears forth furiously when you refuse to withdraw from its owner despite the burning pain that trickles through your fingers and into the core of your soul. Your body begins to feel hot; then cold; then, strangely, _numb_. It's shocking how powerful this magic is, Sans having made it specifically to target his enemies' vital points—yours namely your heart. You don't think you'll survive too long if you keep this up, if you keep touching him like this, looking at him so fervently, soaking in every little bit of him so as to remember forever, forever until after this moment ends. 

The knife falls out of your hand when you drop to your knees and lean over Sans, covering his stout body with the sheer height of yours. There's something about this that feels so frighteningly intimate, the way you pull him to your chest, holding him close, fingers clasping onto bony cheeks and a smile so wide and bitter that it bleeds overly familiar. 

_"If you have some sort of special power..."_

The cobalt flames eat at your flesh like mutated, cancerous cells. You think you're screaming, but that might just be the sound of your giggles bubbling out past clenched teeth, crimson-red droplets foaming at the corner of your mouth. From the darkness of the corridor, you register a sapphire glint in the monster's now opened, lidded eye-socket.

_"Isn't it your responsibility to do the right thing?"_

He doesn't stop you even when you lift a hand to strike his chest, bringing your finger down in a diagonal slash as if you could slice cleanly through his soul with the full might of your desires. A choked gurgle escapes your throat, blood coating the front of your shirt and splattering all across the skeleton's shadowed, downcast face. You can't help but think that you two are more similar than Sans would ever care to admit, his expression darkening as he pulls away from your cruel touch, closing his eyes like he can erase your very existence if he just chooses to ignore it. 

You can hardly make out his quiet _*no_ amidst your own maniac laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> _Frisk: Is it really fair to ask me something like that, Sans, when you didn't take responsibility to do the right thing either?_


End file.
